Devil's Advocate
by Tracy Diane Miller
Summary: Accused of Frank Scanlon's murder, Gary Hobson is in for the fight of his life. But when a lawyer from a high-powered Washington, DC law firm heads his defense, Gary quickly learns that the road towards innocence is paved with both surprises and complica
1. Default Chapter

Devil's Advocate 

Summary: Accused of Frank Scanlon's murder, Gary Hobson is in for the fight of his life. But when a lawyer from a high-powered Washington, DC law firm heads his defense, Gary quickly learns that the road towards innocence is paved with both surprises and complications.

Disclaimer: Early Edition and The Lyon's Den characters belong to their creators. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made.

Author: Tracy Diane Miller

Chapter One

The case had generated a lot of interest, and just like an Arctic blast with its cool winds blowing off of Lake Michigan, it had captured the attention of the Washington elite. Why the murder of a Sun-Times columnist would have produced even a modicum of concern amongst the political power brokers remained unclear, but they were worried that their secrets were about to be exposed. The rich and powerful had the dirtiest laundry.

Christianson had received the call in the early morning, and after a few anxious moments, the veteran lawyer quickly sprung into action. Washington was still asleep for the most part. But when the city awoke to the news, Christianson was determined that the "situation" would be under control, that is, the control of Lyon, Lacrosse, and Levine.

Grant Rashton had been briefed on the situation. How fortuitous that the young junior partner had also been admitted to practice in the state of Illinois. Still, it was odd, so Grant thought, that he had been called in to represent some Chicago bar owner accused in the murder of that city's reporter. What intrigued Rashton even more was that an anonymous and extremely wealthy benefactor was footing the bill for this defense.

Grant had learned a long time ago not to ask questions for which he knew those persons holding the purse strings wouldn't answer. Instead, he agreed to take the case. The only request that Grant made was for Ariel to assist him in this defense.

The two lawyers (and lovers) boarded a plane. In a few hours, they would find themselves journeying to the Cook County jail for their first meeting with Gary Hobson.

Chapter Two 

"Good morning, Chicago. It's six-thirty and..." Almost as if he had succumbed to a drunken stupor rather than sleep born from sheer exhaustion, a weary Gary Hobson turned over in his bed to silence the all too cheery voice emanating from the clock radio. However, as he motioned forward, his body hit the floor with a resounding thump. The force of his fall had awakened him. Gary opened his eyes to the new day and to the realization of his continuing nightmare.

The stale air and the imposing presence of the steel bars of the jail cell greeted him, having replaced the warmth and comfortable familiarity of his loft. A wave of terrible images crashed through his brain as his mind was forced to recognize the desperation of his circumstances: A gunshot. Frank Scanlon's lifeless body, a gruesome silhouette visible despite the darkness that had befallen the eerie quietness of the train yard. A security guard's threat to unleash the fervor of the barking dog should he move a muscle towards the gun that lay in close proximity to the columnist's corpse. His frightened pleas of innocence had fallen upon deaf ears as the handcuffs bit unforgivingly into his flesh. Then, he was shoved into a police car and the wailing of the sirens quickly broke the quiet of the night. He saw his subsequent interrogation by Armstrong and the cop's partner followed by a lie detector test that should have convinced the officers of his innocence rather than reinforced their suspicions of his guilt.

The lie detector test hadn't saved him; instead, according to Brigatti, it had demonstrated that he had a propensity for deception. Her words echoed in his mind: "What you need, is a lawyer, Hobson. A very good lawyer."

He lay on the cold floor for only a moment before he heard the approaching footsteps. Keys jingled excitedly as a portly, middle-aged officer opened the cell door.

Gary offered a slight grunt as he arose to his feet and stared into the eyes of the cop. The officer removed a pair of handcuffs that were clipped to a belt and walked towards him. Gary's hands were handcuffed in front of him as the officer informed him that he was going to see his lawyer.

The early morning hour did little to brighten the dismal atmosphere that surrounded him. The hallway was long and his gait was as heavy as a condemned man taking the last walk of his life. His heart pounded violently. His emotions were confused. He was worried, but yet, a slight breath of fresh air seemed to lightly kiss his cheek as he experienced the first indication of hope since this nightmare had begun. His lawyer would believe him.

Gary Hobson wasn't prepared for what he saw when the officer opened the door to the small interrogation room where his lawyer awaited him. An attractive woman with long blond hair was seated at the table next to a man with dark hair and mud green eyes who was scribbling furiously onto a legal pad.

This man was his mirror image.


	2. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

There is a popular and intriguing belief that everyone has a twin somewhere out there in the world. Yet, few of us actually are afforded the opportunity of meeting our twin, let alone having that twin defend us on a murder charge.

For a moment, Gary Hobson wondered if he were still asleep and whether the scenario currently playing out before him was a continuation of a dream. Maybe if he concentrated, he could will himself to wake up. Maybe he'd find himself in his own bed in that moment of time just before he hears the sounds of an intrusive alarm clock and the demanding meow of a cat.

The hero took a deep breath then closed his eyes. Time to wake up, Hobson. His inner voice silently chanted. Gary exhaled before opening his eyes once more to the realization that he wasn't dreaming. If Fate did indeed possess a perverse sense of humor, then Gary Hobson was the unlikely beneficiary of that perversion. He was rendered speechless as his eyes locked with the eyes of his mirror image.

Grant was speechless, too. Silence was an uncomfortable oddity for the man with impressive oratory skills often able to seduce a jury in awarding substantial verdicts. Grant hated surprises and discovering that he had to defend a murderer that shared his face was the cruelest of ironies. He was used to exercising control over a situation. He despised manipulation, unless of course, it was he doing the manipulating. But the lawyer couldn't shake the feeling that he was being manipulating by the unknown person footing the bill for this particular defense.

Ariel's eyes darted between the two men, one who she knew intimately, yet at times, felt that she didn't know at all and the other who was a stranger, but who somehow she felt a strange connection.

Perhaps there had been something special captured within her stare for Gary looked at her, his body momentarily relaxed while his eyes silently pleaded for her to help him.

"Sit down, Mr. Hobson," Grant said in an authoritative tone that effectively broke the unpleasant quiet that had permeated the room. Gary took a seat at the opposite end of the table facing the two lawyers.

"I'm Grant Rashton. This is my colleague, Ariel Saxon."

A brief silence.

"So, Mr. Hobson..."

"Gary."

"So, Mr. Hobson, did you kill him?"

"What Mr. Rashton meant was that we need to ask a lot of questions in order to understand what happened so that we can help you." Ariel explained.

Grant shot her a disapproving look. His job was defending a criminal, not to hold the man's hand and sugarcoat matters.

"I didn't kill him." Gary answered.

Grant opened a manila folder. "Well, there's a mountain of evidence that says otherwise. Let's see. There's the manager of the bookstore where Frank Scanlon was autographing his book who says that you were acting agitated and didn't want Scanlon to leave. That you were stalking the man"

"I'm not a stalker. I was just trying to..."

"And we have some witnesses at the Sun-Times who say that Scanlon was researching a column about you, that he thought that you were this psychotic who set up disasters so that you could fly in and save the day." Grant continued.

"That's not true. The last thing I want is to be a hero."

"You were found at the train yard over Scanlon's body. You gave the police some flimsy excuse about 'taking a walk' You took a cab, and just happened to take a walk at night to a secluded train yard where the reporter who just happens to be writing an unflattering column about you winds up dead from a .380 slug to the chest"

Another brief silence.

"Look, I know how it all looks, but I didn't do it. I didn't kill Frank Scanlon."

"You were interrogated by the police without having counsel present. Did the police tell you that you had the right to have a lawyer with you before they could ask you any questions?" Ariel interjected.

Gary hesitated briefly before answering. "I think so."

"You think so? But you're not certain?" Grant asked.

"No." Gary whispered.

"Great. That's just great" Grant remarked, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Okay, we probably won't be able to get the statements that you made during the interrogation suppressed because the police will claim that you were given your Miranda rights. What about the gun?"

"Howzat?"

"The gun. Mr. Hobson."

"It's not my...I don't even own a gun."

"If that's true, that's something. The State's going for murder one. They're going for premeditation. They're going to say that you had the means, motive, and opportunity to kill Scanlon. If the gun wasn't yours, maybe it was Scanlon's. Maybe it was something that he carried with him to protect himself from all those loonies out there. Maybe the two of you got into an argument, he felt threatened, he pulled out the gun, the two of you struggled, and the gun went off."

A brief silence.

"You don't believe me, do you Mr. Rashton?"

"It doesn't matter whether I believe you, Mr. Hobson. What matters is that we convince twelve jurors that you didn't do this. And for that, we have our work cut out for us. The first step is your arraignment where you'll be formally charged. That's in," Grant paused briefly to glance at his watch, "an hour." Grant arose from his seat and knocked on the door for the guard. The guard entered the room, walked over to where Gary was seated, and roughly removed the hero from the chair.

"Until then, you're going to be taken back to your cell. We'll see you in an hour."

With the guard holding his arm, Gary walked towards the door. He gave Ariel one last desperate glance before walking out of the door.

"He's innocent." Ariel insisted.

Grant let out a chuckle. "Just what I expected some card carrying, bleeding heart liberal, Yale graduate to say."

"And you're sure he's guilty?"

"Yes."

"I would have thought that you would have had a little compassion for the man."

"And why is that, Ariel?"

"Because he looks like you. No, wait. Maybe that's why you were so hard on him. Maybe you resent him because of that."

Grant arose from the chair. "We're lawyers, Ariel. We don't get paid for compassion. But maybe that's something that you've forgotten hanging around Jack and that clinic. Someone went through a lot of trouble to bring us here to represent Hobson," Grant paused briefly before continuing, "and for the record, I think that the guy is a nut who belongs in a padded cell not a jail cell. I don't like the idea of a guy who looks like me spending the rest of his life in prison, becoming the 'girlfriend' to some big guy named Bubba."


	3. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

The proverbial moment of truth had arrived.

Gary swallowed hard. His secret, as it were, wasn't really a secret in the literal sense since there were already a handful of people who were privy to the knowledge. Yet, with the exception of Chuck and Marissa who he had voluntarily taken into his confidence and who had believed and supported him without question, all of the other people had acquired the information through their own devices.

It never got any easier for him whenever he had to tell someone about the Paper. Maybe it wasn't supposed to. But now, he had no choice. His life depended on him trusting this man.

Grant was clearly losing patience with his client. "Why were you at the train yard, Mr. Hobson? And don't give me that story about how you traveled miles to take a walk and that you like trains."

"Mr. Rashton, as my lawyer, anything that I say to you stays between the two of us, correct?"

"Yes, there's an attorney/client privilege. But..."

"You see...ah...the reason that I went to the train yard was because I had to...I needed...to save Scanlon's life."

"To save his life?"

"That's right." Gary paused briefly, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I...um...I...I get the Paper. The Sun-Times. But it's not today's paper. It's not yesterday's paper. I get tomorrow's newspaper...today. It comes to me every morning, with a cat. I know what's going to happen before it happens. I know who needs help. That's why I was at the train yard. The Paper said that Scanlon was going to be murdered. I went there to save him. That's what I do. I'm out there saving lives, you see."

A brief, yet uncomfortable silence.

"Mr. Rashton?"

"Let me see if I understand you. A local tabloid is delivered to your door. But instead of coming with a genie in a bottle, or your own personal psychic, it comes with a cat. Does that about sum it up, Mr. Hobson?" Grant said sarcastically.

"Mr. Rashton, I know it sounds, but I'm not crazy. I swear, I'm telling you the truth."

Grant let out a wry laugh. "At least it wasn't little green men and flying saucers. About you not being crazy, I think that the 'professionals' will come up with a different diagnosis after you're evaluated. But my take on it? You don't belong in prison. You belong in a psych ward where you won't hurt yourself or anyone else ever again. I'll motion the Court for a competency hearing as soon as possible."

"Please, Mr. Rashton. I'm not crazy. You have to believe me. Please." Gary pleaded.

"Time to go"

"Hobson"

"Hobson! Time to go, Hobson"

The sound of the officer's voice shook Gary from his reverie as his eyes focused on the steel bars that surrounded him. Once again, the cold, unforgiving handcuffs bit into Gary's flesh as the cop escorted him from his cell.


End file.
